The Swallow & the Sun

The Swallow & the Sun

Petals glow with evening's light, 

slant and dip, weighted.  Come dusk,
they'll turn their heads east, await sun's return.  

Frost is near, some have grown old 

and move no more.

A little boy runs past, 

following swoop and swagger of the swallow,
imitating their darting and dashing in the air.

The boy, unlike the swallow, stumbles.  

A man strides forward, lifts him high, 

dives and dips him toward flannel, checkered "nest". 

 A basket and plates await; 

laughter and sticky fingers next.

Side by side, they leave meadow behind, 

traverse shadowed trail where leaves and limbs enshrine; 

one voice high; inquisitive.  The other low; reassuring.

Time hesitates, the breeze, gentle, 
the sun dappled and dancing beneath his feet -

and when a young man, closes his eyes, he remembers
sunflowers, swallows silhouetted against the sun,
soft flannel, a tree-lined sanctuary, 

and the feel of his father's hand.

by Margaret Bednar, August 23, 2020

This is linked with the challenge "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #33 - Swallow screams for dinner" and "Poets and Storytellers United - Writer's Pantry #34"

The phrase "swallow screams for dinner" is a line from C. Sandlin's poem "Telling Stories"  Her amazing poem can be found HERE.   I changed the line to "stumbles".  I used the previous quote for the prompt but didn't really like it. :)